Tristan hummed, then smiled. The warmth in it made Hyacinth a little breathless.
“We’re so looking forward to your visit,” Emma repeated.
“Me too.” Hyacinth spoke the words to Emma, but Tristan’s eyes were on her, and she got lost in his sea-green gaze. Captured. Entranced.
Had he thought of their dance at all? Of the easy way they’d spoken to each other in the garden?
Even knowing the other young lady he’d danced with would be going to Kent couldn’t diminish the excitement she felt at the chance to know him better.
He’d promised to show her his laboratory. If nothing else, they could talk about paleontology.
But would she have to watch him courting Lady Felicia Fairfax for a fortnight?
CHAPTER 6
Tristan laid the ancient bone carefully on the table, then took out his caliper to record measurements. As he did so, the whirl of thoughts in his mind refused to settle. His work gave him a deep sense of satisfaction, and it usually calmed him too.
Not today.
All that had happened in the Beckfords’ garden weighed on his mind.
Hyacinth Briarwood was ever in his thoughts—her vivid green eyes, her smile, her kindness, her refusal to blame him for causing her injury. He wondered constantly how she was faring and whether her injury was healing. He still wanted to buy her new shoes, or a book she might like, anything to make up for his clumsiness.
Then there was Lady Felicia. The mortification of what had happened in the Beckfords’ garden still gnawed at him. He’d been a fool to think Lady Felicia was inviting him to a private tête à tête. And more so to assume the man she joined in the garden was a suitor. He now knew it had been yet another of her and Collier’s cousins, a Lord Lisle.
Having met and danced with Lady Felicia—after making sure Miss Bridewell was in a carriage and on her way back home—Tristan suspected she would never suggest anything scandalous.
If anything, Lady Felicia had seemed nervous and anxious to adhere to all the rules of propriety. Their dance had been awkward, and she’d held herself stiffly, seemingly uncomfortable despite making conversation and responding to each question he asked.
Afterwards, Collier had been eager to reiterate that she was everything Tristan might want in a bride—polished, proper, kind. And how could he argue with his best friend after but a single dance with the lady?
Emma had been mollified by his assurances, as was her nature.Fine, we shall invited her, she’d told him on the carriage ride home.
Now the prospect of a fortnight of playing host to both young ladies seemed daunting.
At the telltale shuffle and tap of his father’s footsteps followed by the strike of his cane on the laboratory tiles, Tristan laid his instruments aside and turned to face his visitor.
“Are all the preparations in readiness for our visitors?”
“Yes, Father, according to Barton and Mrs. Paxton, the rooms are tidied, and Emma has seen to planning meals with Cook. She has a whole agenda arranged for the fortnight.”
His father nodded. “Very good.”
“And you will be joining us over the coming days, Father?”
As a rule, he did not pay social calls, nor encourage them at Oakhill. Their family’s country estate had rarely had as many visitors as they were expecting in the coming fortnight.
“I might join the party for a few meals,” he said, his deep voice raspy after a bout of illness. “But don’t expect me to be dancing any jigs.”
Tristan nodded in return. “Understood. No jigs for you.”
His father arched a thick silver-gray brow. “Your sister tells me there’s a young noblewoman who’ll be among the guests.”
“Several in fact.”
His father waved as if annoyed with Tristan’s prevaricating. “You know the one. A Lady Felicity, isn’t it?”
“Lady Felicia.”
